


All So Domestic

by SARA_CAP



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SARA_CAP/pseuds/SARA_CAP
Summary: As Sherlock and John settle in for a movie night, their relationship progresses faster than Sherlock would like. How will this play out?This is a VERY fluffy idea that's been rolling around in my brain and it has caused me grief to no end to write it down. I hope that you all enjoy!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	All So Domestic

John was humming to himself as he put the kettle on the stove. It was their nightly routine (had been since they started living together). John would put tea on the kettle, order Chinese food and then the two of them would snuggle in Sherlock’s bed room to watch Bond films. Of course, if Sherlock got bored, he would pull his facial features into a pout and wait until John noticed, and then they would watch something else. Or they might just spend the night talking.

John smiled softly. To quote Mrs. Hudson, it was all so domestic.

The screeching of the kettle and the simultaneous ringing of the doorbell jolted John out of his reverie. He quickly took the kettle off of the stove and then went to answer the door. He had half a mind to call Sherlock and ask him to get the door, but he knew that there was no point. Sherlock had been locked away since mid-morning. He was up to his eyeballs in experiments (and solving Lestrade’s cases for him over text whenever he fancied it).

After paying the delivery man, John brought the food back into the kitchen. As he emptied the boxes into individual plates, he couldn’t help but let his gaze wander towards Sherlock’s study. He could picture it perfectly. Sherlock in a crisp, white shirt (despite being in the house), bent over a microscope. His blue-green eyes would be narrowed in concentration as he quickly made calculations in his head.

God, it was a wonder that smoke didn’t actually come out of his ears!

The thought was so absurd, yet so much in the realm of possibility, that John was hit by a sudden giggle fit. As he was doubled over the kitchen table, he heard the study door open and footsteps padding into the kitchen.

“John, do you mind? I’m trying to….” Sherlock’s sentence stopped in its tracks as he took stock of both the Chinese food and the steaming mugs of tea.

“Food’s here,” said John, through hiccups of laughter.

Sherlock walked closer to the table and picked up one of the plates that was almost overflowing with noodles. He looked up and locked eyes with John for a brief moment. To Sherlock’s shock, John doubled over in another fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” asked Sherlock, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

After a few seconds, John was able to compose himself.

“I was imagining you working so hard that smoke came out of your ears. And when I looked at you just now, I could vividly picture it,”

Sherlock annoyedly brushed his black curls out of his face. “That is _not_ funny. In fact, it’s more than a little disturbing.”

Realizing he had hurt Sherlock’s feelings, John climbed onto the chair next to Sherlock and kneeled on it. Sherlock noted that his grin was cheeky, but sincere.

“I know,” he said, placing his hand around Sherlock’s wrist and pulling the detective against the back of the chair. John then began to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry,”

Sherlock was still annoyed, but it didn’t stop him from interlacing his hand in John’s.

“Honestly, John” Sherlock murmured. “As a doctor, I would have thought that you’d see the danger of smoke coming out of one’s ears. Is this really what your brain gets up to?”

John laughed against Sherlock’s cheek before moving onto the detective’s sharp jawline.

“And, for the record, if smoke coming out of people’s ears was a legitimate issue, I would have found a solution years ago,”

John stopped kissing him long enough to look into his eyes. They were glinting with school boy mischief.

“Of course,” said John. “Because you’re perfect and brilliant and the world is a better place with you in it,”

He then cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together. Sherlock hesitantly let his mouth move with John’s for a few moments before gently biting the doctor’s lower lip as they separated. John was relieved to see that Sherlock was smiling.

“That’s better,” he murmured. John gave him one last peck before climbing off the chair.

“Come on,” said the doctor. “Let’s get comfortable,”

The two men then walked into Sherlock’s room, a mug and a plate in each hand.

***********

The movie tonight was _On Her Majesty’s Secret Service_. The only sounds besides the movie was the slurping of tea and noodles. This ritual of theirs was probably the highest level of self-care that John had ever offered himself. And although he would never admit it, it was the same for Sherlock.

After placing his empty mug and plate on the floor, John let himself slip under the covers, appreciating how warm he felt. He lolled his head to the right to look at Sherlock. The detective had sunk so low into the pillows that he was basically on his back. His curls were mussed all around his face and there was a heat flush rising on his cheeks because of the duvet. His eyes were so narrowed that his eyelashes were almost resting on his cheeks.

John could feel a sad smile spreading on his face. Sherlock was finally succumbing to a week’s worth of sleep deprivation.

God, he wished his beloved would slow down…

That’s when Sherlock, seemingly unconsciously let his arm flop out, his open palm staring up at John. The doctor’s sad smile quickly became an amused one.

This was how it always started.

John made a dramatic demonstration of stretching before sliding his hand underneath Sherlock’s and intertwining their fingers. He ran his thumb up Sherlock’s, marveling at how slender and beautiful his fingers were.

The next step in this dance occurred as Bond was racing down a mountain on skis, with criminals in hot pursuit. His hand still in John’s gentle grasp, Sherlock rolled over onto his side. There were now only a few inches of mattress between them.

John could see that the first three buttons of Sherlock’s (now crinkled) shirt were open. There were tiny droplets of sweat sliding down his neck and were pooling on his upper chest. John would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t find this the least bit tantalizing.

John reached over and softly pinched Sherlock’s cheek. When the detective opened his eyes, John opened his arms and invited Sherlock into his side. A grateful smile came over Sherlock’s face as he allowed John to collect him into his arms and place his head in the crook of his neck. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock, John allowed one of his hands to run through the detective’s fly-away curls. He used his other hand to gently rub Sherlock’s arm.

“I just want to make it abundantly clear that I’m still awake,” Sherlock murmured. “My ears are still fully functional.”

Chuckling, John tweaked Sherlock’s exposed ear, earning an amused whine of protest from the detective. He then smoothed back Sherlock’s hair and kissed his forehead, allowing his lips to linger.

“Don’t worry about falling asleep. I’ll turn everything off after.”

Sherlock sighed in response before cuddling deeper into John’s body.

To quote Mrs. Hudson, it was all so domestic.

As the credits rolled, John’s body felt warm and comfortably gelatinous. He looked down and was startled to see Sherlock’s light blue eyes looking up at him. Sherlock blushed but didn’t look away.

If anyone had asked John what it felt like to look into Sherlock’s eyes, John would swear, under oath, that it was like being transported to another world. His eyes were simultaneously chaotic and stormy, piercing you with a simple stare. But they were also calm and peaceful.

Heartbreakingly human.

“Did you enjoy that?” murmured John.

“Uh-hmm,” Sherlock agreed. “And I’d be happy to recite the dialogue to you backwards,”

John thought that his heart could burst from sheer love. But before he could come up with something clever to say, Sherlock raised his head and kissed him. Grinning into the kiss, John slipped his hand onto Sherlock’s face and reciprocated.

It always began tentative and soft; usually Sherlock trying to not keep his lips locked. But they relaxed as soon as he did. Sherlock loosened himself just enough to wrap his arms fully around John’s neck and pull the doctor on top of him.

It never failed to surprise John how well they fit together. John traced his fingers up Sherlock’s chest and deftly unbuttoned his shirt. The two separated for a second, allowing John to sit back on his heels. Sherlock was lying back in the pillows, his cheeks red and lightly gasping. Sweat was lightly glinting on the cut muscles in his abdomen.

Beautiful.

“Are you just going to stare at me like some sculpture?”

Sherlock’s tone was sultry and inviting, and so infuriatingly flirtatious. That was all the motivation that John needed. He went back to kissing Sherlock, his lips tracing the detective’s sharp jawline and moving down to his neck. He could feel Sherlock’s pulse on his tongue.

Spurred on by Sherlock’s quiet moans, John continued his trajectory down Sherlock’s chest, digging his thumbs into his hip bones. As his fingers began travelling up the detective’s inner thigh and reaching for the waistband of his pants, he felt Sherlock tense. Mistaking it for excitement, John slipped his fingers under the elastic band of Sherlock’s boxers.

Suddenly, Sherlock’s knees jerked up and he roughly pushed John away from him.

“Stop!”

John was so stunned that he barely realized that he had rolled off of Sherlock. Sherlock’s voice was hoarse and choked. He sounded angry, annoyed and…scared.

John would have preferred it if Sherlock had screamed at him.

Sherlock sat hunched over on the side of the bed. John reached over to put his hand on Sherlock’s back, but the detective launched himself off of the bed and bolted out the door. The bathroom door slammed. As soon as he heard the shower turn on (and judging by what he had felt between Sherlock’s legs) John could deduce exactly what he was doing.

*****

John had been lying on his side mindlessly staring at his phone for what felt like hours when he felt a weight come onto the bed and a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find his detective with nothing, but a towel wrapped around his waist. His soft smile was playful, with a hint of begging for forgiveness. John felt himself returning the smile, relieved.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded. “I just…needed a shower. And to clear my head,”

“That’s not the only thing that you were clearing,” John murmured.

The millisecond that it took for Sherlock to realize the joke was not lost on John, making him laugh. Upon seeing Sherlock’s smile slip away, John sobered.

“I’m sorry, love,” John murmured. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. I should have been more aware that you were uncomfortable.”

Sherlock looked up at John. He started lifting his hand, stopped and then forced himself to raise it again until his fingers melded around John’s cheek.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured.

“No, it is,” John replied, nuzzling his face into Sherlock’s palm. “We’ve only just really started being intimate and I know that you’re not comfortable yet.”

Sherlock took his hand off of John’s face, the roughness of the action startling the latter.

“It’s not that,” Sherlock said annoyedly. “It’s just… it’s just that… I don’t even know why I bother!”

Sherlock flung himself back onto the bed, angrily pulling a pillow into his chest. He seemed to be putting all of his energy on staring at the open door, almost willing it to move.

Every instinct in John’s body told him to leave. That there was no way he could reason with him when he got like this. But Sherlock’s barely repressed shaking and glistening eyes broke his heart.

And he’d already walked away from Sherlock too many times.

John grabbed a pillow himself and hugged it, mimicking Sherlock.

“Sherlock, please look at me.”

It took a moment, but the two men were soon looking into each other’s eyes.

“Talk to me.” John said.

Sherlock took a shaky breath and angrily rubbed his eyes. Adjusting the towel so that none of his lower body could be revealed, he turned on his side to fully face John. He was still hugging the pillow.

As if it might protect him from his own vulnerability.

“I’ve always seen emotions as signs of deficiency. Chemical reactions to your surroundings that could easily be fought off if you tried hard enough. And before you ask, I have no idea where it stems from. Please spare me the psycho-analysis,”

John, who had opened his mouth to ask that very question, closed it. He nodded for Sherlock to continue, relieved that the detective seemed more like himself.

“But I started realizing that I had a…curiosity. For companionship. And that slowly escalated into a curiosity about…physical intimacy.”

Sherlock hugged his pillow harder.

“But it never made sense to me. So, I threw myself harder into my work. I focused on keeping myself as over-stimulated as possible.”

His fingers had begun stroking his inner arm and wrist to emphasize his point.

“But then you came along. And suddenly, it felt safe and possible to interact with my urges. But I can’t seem to make myself…perform,”

Sherlock barely finished his sentence before a sob escaped his lips. John was fighting every impulse in his body to pull his detective close to him. But he knew that Sherlock wasn’t ready to be touched. He bit back his tears and nodded.

“I can’t say that I’m interested in…sexual acts. I don’t see the appeal. But I do crave being closer to you. And I feel like I’m disappointing you.”

John could no longer keep his mouth shut.

“You’re not disappointing me. You could never do that.”

Sherlock didn’t seem convinced.

“I’ve never been with a bloke before. Well… not seriously,”

“Sholto?” Sherlock asked, rubbing his eyes with bridged fingers.

John nodded, smirking. “Sholto. But I repressed the experience. I repressed the feelings. I threw it all in the bin and ignored it. But what we have…. I can’t repress that.”

Sherlock looked up, tears still lingering on his lashes.

“One hundred percent?” he asked. He sounded like an uncertain child.

“One _thousand_ percent,” John murmured. There was no questioning his statement.

Sherlock turned his gaze down to the mattress. He tried to say something and stopped himself multiple times.

“I just want to feel you,” Sherlock finally murmured.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“Honestly… I don’t know what I mean. I just… I want to feel your skin… and hold you and…. I want to understand what humans feel,”

John couldn’t help but smile.

“You _are_ human. More than you realize or care to admit,”

John then presented Sherlock his open palm.

“May I?” he asked.

Sherlock paused for a moment before nodding. John then gently took Sherlock’s hand and guided it under his shirt onto his bare chest, right over his heart.

Sherlock’s subsequent gasp and shudder immediately disconcerted John. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Sherlock said, emphatically. “It’s fine, it’s just…. strange,”

John watched as Sherlock slowly relaxed his curled fingers and watched his brows furrow in curiosity. John smiled softly.

“Feel that?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded. “It’s…strong,”

John chuckled. “I would hope so,”

After a few more seconds, Sherlock gently pulled his fingers out from under John’s shirt.

“Was that alright?” the doctor asked.

“It was…overwhelming,”

John nodded. “It’s vastly new territory. There are a lot of things to explore. And I want to explore them with you. Together.”

John slipped his fingers onto Sherlock’s cheek, stroking the striking cheekbone there. Sherlock leaned into the touch almost eagerly.

“I want to make you feel safe. I want you to feel comfortable saying no to me and telling me when you enjoy something. I’m not going to mock or invalidate you,”

Sherlock nodded, a fresh wave of tears coming down his face. “I don’t want you to leave if I do something wrong. I know that I don’t understand everything.”

“Sherlock, we’ve been through hell and back together,” John said. “I’ve lost you too many times. I’m not leaving you while I’m still breathing,”

“Even if I resort to YouTube and novels for tutorials on sensuality?” Sherlock asked.

John laughed. “I would be insulted if you didn’t. As long as you’re yourself,”

Sherlock nodded while sliding a knuckle under his eyes to remove the tears drying there.

“Come on,” John murmured. “I’ll clean up and then we can get back to bed,”

John rolled off the bed and picked up the oily dishes lying on the floor. As he rounded the bed with the dishes in his hand, he heard Sherlock say “Wait.”

“Yeah?” John asked.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

The look in Sherlock’s eyes was one of defiance. “I want to learn now.”

John’s look of surprise must have been more visible than he thought. Sherlock immediately softened.

“Of course, …. If you want to.”

John felt a smile spreading over his face.

“Will you promise to tell me if something is wrong?”

Sherlock nodded. “Affirmative.”

John set the dishes back down on the floor and it began.

*********

John climbed back onto the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He tapped his legs, indicating for Sherlock to straddle him. The detective complied, surprising John with how strong his thighs were. John then took Sherlock’s hands in his and brought them up to the collar of his shirt.

Sherlock’s fingers were shaking, almost fluttering against John’s neck. But with the back of his hands cupped reassuringly in John’s, the detective began unbuttoning the shirt. With John’s shirt now fully open, the detective was free to admire his torso.

John couldn’t help but feel exposed. His abdomen still had some definition, but there was no hiding the extra pudge he had gained over the years. He also wished he could cover the random pockmarks and scars, as well as how white his skin was.

“You’re…beautiful,”

John was quickly yanked out of his negative self-talk. Sherlock’s blue eyes were soft, admiring and….

Awestruck.

“W-what?” John asked, not sure he’d heard right.

“I… I said you’re beautiful. Is that alright to say?” Sherlock asked.

John, feeling his throat beginning to constrict with emotion, only nodded.

Sherlock’s long, slender fingers began gently stroking John’s chest and abdomen, and the doctor almost almost forgot his own name. Sherlock’s face was so close that John could feel the detective’s shaky breath. It was no issue for John to capture his beloved’s lips in a kiss. The kiss was deep and passionate, but also gentle and reassuring.

It was bonding.

Sherlock continued his tentative exploration of John’s chest, abdomen, arms and shoulders. Their lips only ever parted for a few seconds to catch snatches of breath. The tether between them refused to be broken.

Finally, as Sherlock’s hands were edging towards the waistband of John’s pants, he broke the kiss.

“No…no we need to stop,” he said.

John was more than a little breathless. But he still managed to say, “Of course,”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Sherlock murmured, sliding off of John’s lap.

“Don’t apologize,” John said. “We won’t rush anything.”

Sherlock sighed and sank back against the pillows. “One last thing?”

“Hmm?” John replied, slipping his shirt off and throwing it off the bed.

“May I…hold you?”

The doctor smiled and edged next to Sherlock. Despite some minor clumsiness, Sherlock pulled John into him, wrapping both arms around him. John snuggled into Sherlock’s chest, one arm resting on the detective’s lower back and the other on his right hip.

A few moments of silence passed as Sherlock slowly stroked John’s hair. John felt so overwhelmed with love for Sherlock’s innocence and protective nature that he would have been content dying right here.

“Is this alright?” Sherlock asked.

John reached up to find Sherlock’s hand, intertwined their fingers and squeezed.

“It’s perfect,”

The last thing that John felt before falling asleep was Sherlock pressing a soft kiss to his head.

To quote Mrs. Hudson, it was all so domestic.


End file.
